


Live Free or Die

by Zena (HowNovel)



Series: Vermont Farm Life [1]
Category: Starman (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-10-06
Updated: 2001-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-25 18:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowNovel/pseuds/Zena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul and Scott end up in Vermont on a farm, owned by an older couple. Scott becomes the farm hand there, while Paul finds a job as a photographer in town. Some months later, Paul discovers that Fox is on the way to the farm. He reaches the farm just seconds before Fox and Wylie get there. Father and son run for their lives. They don’t get far, because Fox shoots at the Starman and hurts him badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live Free or Die

Live Free Or Die  
A Starman Story By Zena

The move to New England seemed like a good idea. It was like a perfect getaway, a chance to escape the commercial atmosphere of southern California, with its smog, trendy new-age lifestyles and ultra-fast-paced society, but for Paul Forrester and his son, Scott Hayden, it was much more than that. It was a chance to slow down and catch their breath after two recent encounters with FSA agent, George Fox, that had been just too close for comfort.

The phone call from Liz Baynes of a job offer in Vermont had been like a Christmas present. Taking a moment to think over the matter and discuss it between themselves had been nothing more than a formality. Twenty-four hours later, Paul and Scott found themselves driving among the green hills of northern New England. Though both looked forward to their new location, Scott was especially excited. He wanted to show his father where good old-fashioned Yankees came from. Sixteen years old now, he had become tired of California, and tired of running. He was looking forward to a more conservative laid-back atmosphere.

Even the climate change was refreshing. The air seemed so much cleaner here. Scott hoped his father’s job at the magazine office would last a long time, but he was afraid to let himself be too optimistic. All it would take to spoil their new life would be some over-eager editor attaching the famous name of the original Paul Forrester to a photograph taken by his dad. It was, in essence, waving the proverbial “red-flag” in George Fox’s face. After that, it would only be a matter of time before the FSA agent spotted the photo and came hunting. Was it too much to ask for a little privacy? Didn’t anyone know the meaning of the word anymore?

Paul drove down the narrow country road in the rented car Liz arranged to be waiting for him at the airport. He continued heading southwest to the town of Freedom Hills.

“I think I’m going to like Vermont,” he commented to his son. “These…Yankees, seem to have the right idea when it comes to naming towns.”

Scott laughed. “Yeah, okay, Dad. Don’t let it go to your head. This town is just like any other. It’s like that New Hampshire license plate you saw with ‘Live Free Or Die’ on it. Two hundred years ago the colonists believed in those words, but I wouldn’t bet your life on it now.”

“I believe in them and we have bet our lives on it.”

Scott Hayden gazed at his father with thoughtful eyes. He was painfully aware just how precious those words were to his dad, and him. “Yeah, I know,” he softly said.

Paul glanced away from the road for a second and looked over, noticing the boy’s eyes were riveted on him. He gave Scott a reassuring smile, took his right hand off the steering wheel long enough to give the teen’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. He could easily feel the emotional pain expressed so clearly in those eyes. It took little empathy to decipher the reason behind it. The memory of their escape two years ago, from Peagrum’s awful laboratory in the government facility’s code-named “Building 11,” still lay fresh just beneath the surface of Scott’s young mind.

Too fresh, Starman thought. The incident was a terrible reminder of just how dangerous this game they played with Federal Security Agent, George Fox, really was. If only the man would open his eyes and see the truth in front of them. He felt sorry the agent could not see beyond his own fears. Perhaps he’ll change someday. I hope it’s soon, he prayed, for Scott’s sake.

The rich green landscape was dotted with farm after farm, and the occasional tall white church steeple rising above the treetops. Scott spotted the sign for the Miller farm a quarter of a mile ahead. Underneath were a couple smaller hand-painted signs tacked onto a fence post. They read: Fresh Eggs For Sale, and Help Wanted.

“Dad, pull in there. Maybe I can get the job.”

Paul turned onto the sandy path and drove up the long driveway. At the end stood a large white two-story house with a wrap-around porch on three sides. A red barn with white trim stood off to the side. He parked the car. Father and son got out, and were greeted by a barking Australian Shepherd.

“Nice doggie,” Scott said and extended his hand to the animal.

The Shepherd continued its vocal warnings and cautiously approached, sniffing the air and the stranger’s scent. When the black and white farm dog got to within an arm’s length of him, it suddenly wagged its fluffy tale, jumped up and tried to lick Scott’s face.

“Down boy,” he laughed as the dog succeeded in planting two wet kisses on his cheek.

The Shepherd obeyed and barked again, this time in a friendly “let’s play” greeting.

“I think he likes me,” the teen said and winked at his father.

“She,” a woman’s voice corrected.

Father and son looked to see an older woman, perhaps in her sixties, standing behind the screen door.

“Her name is Daisy, and that’s simply amazing,” she said. “She’s never cozied up to strangers that quickly.”

Scott grinned.

“May I help you?” she offered.

“We saw the ‘help wanted’ sign. If the job is still available, I’d like to talk to you about it.”

“By all means. Come inside,” she invited and opened the door. She gestured for the two guests to sit at the kitchen table. “John, someone’s here to talk to you about the job,” she said loudly. She turned her attention back to the man and the boy. “My husband will be with you in a minute. Can I get you something to drink; some coffee, or tea perhaps?”

“Yes, we’d like some tea please,” Paul said.

John Miller came into the kitchen. He was dressed in the familiar farmer attire: jean bib overalls, plaid shirt and well-worn work boots. A grizzled white moustache and beard adorned his weather-beaten face. He stood short and walked with a distinctive limp in his left leg. He had white hair, and gold wire-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. He looked at the pair quietly sitting watching him. “You here for the job?” he brusquely asked, addressing Paul.

“No, my son Scott is,” Starman said with a smile and looked at the teen.

“Hi,” the boy shyly greeted.

The farmer thrust his hands deeply into his pockets and carefully studied the nervous young man in front of him. “You ever work on a farm, boy?”

“Dad and I did some harvesting last year in California,” he replied and glanced at his father.

Paul returned a subtle smile and watched the farmer pull out a chair and sit down across from them.

“What about animals? You ever work with sheep, chickens or cows?”

Scott cast his eyes down for a second. “No. But I’m willing to learn. I like animals.”

“What about farm equipment? You ever operated a tractor or a baler?”

“No, but Dad’s been letting me practice driving the car.”

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

They heard the man grunt and shake his head.

“John, don’t be rude!” Mrs. Miller chastised.

“He doesn’t know the first thing about farm work,” the man rebutted.

“So, you’ll teach him,” Agnes replied and placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“It’ll never work.”

“John Miller! Stop it! Richard is gone and he isn’t coming back! I don’t see a line of people rushing here to get the job.”

Scott and Paul looked at each other.

“Um, may I ask who Richard is?” the teen inquired uncomfortably.

When Mr. Miller refused to elaborate, Mrs. Miller took the initiative. “Richard Parsons was the hand we had working for us last year.”

“You said he’s gone. Did he die or something?”

“Oh, good heavens, no!” Agnes said. “He graduated from college in May and moved out west. My husband is just unhappy about losing him. He worked for us for four years and became a pretty good hired hand.”

“I don’t know,” John said, sizing up the teen. He pulled out a hand and rubbed his beard. The kid looks like he could use some meat on those skinny bones.

“Then sell this place,” Agnes retorted, knowing the remark would rankle his ire.

“Never! This land has been in our family for two-hundred years!”

“Please. I’d like to try it,” Scott pleaded.

The man looked again at his wife.

“He does have a way with animals,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Daisy went right up him and licked his face. You know how cautious she is around strangers.”

“All right,” the man reluctantly replied. “Room and board is free. Your wages will be fifteen percent of the sale of the produce.”

“You mean I get to live here?”

“Of course,” Mrs. Miller said. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” Paul said. “You wouldn’t happen to have an extra room I could rent, do you?”

“In fact, I do,” John said. “It’s one hundred and thirty dollars a week. Breakfast and dinner are provided. You get your own lunch.”

“Okay. I’ll take it,” he replied and pulled out his wallet, getting the cash.

The teapot whistled and Mrs. Miller got the cups, saucers and spoons and put them on the table. As Paul and Scott drank the beverage, John and Agnes began spelling out the details of the job to the teen.

“This is a four-hundred acre farm. I’ve got zucchini and summer squash, yellow and green beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, scallions, dill, parsley, rosemary, lemongrass, and blueberries and raspberries to take to local restaurants every morning and to sell at the farmer’s market. The carrots, beets, pumpkins and winter squash won’t be ready for harvesting until fall. The eggs need to be collected from the hens every morning. I’m getting ready cut the hay this week or next. Every spring a local crafter’s association buys the wool I get from the sheep. Every fall we butcher a few for meat. We do the same with the chickens and the cows. We raise our own food. I don’t trust those growers. You don’t know what they’re feedin’ those animals. At least I know what mine are eating. No growth hormones are used in the feed here. Not squeamish about butcherin’ are ya?”

Scott gulped. “You mean I have to kill them?” he asked, suddenly sick, and seriously thinking about becoming a vegetarian. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

John smiled a devilish grin, then told him, “No. I take the sheep and cows to the local slaughterhouse when it’s time. We do kill the chickens here though.”

“Oh, gross,” he said and leaned against the wooden chair. “I don’t think I’ll ever eat fried chicken or hamburgers again.”

Even Starman was disturbed by the news. He never thought much about where the food he ate came from. It was one thing to go to the supermarket and buy the pre-packaged slice of beef, pork, turkey or chicken part. It was quite another to be faced with the task of taking a living creature and ending its life.

Mrs. Miller noticed the apprehension written on both the boy’s and the man’s faces. “Look at it this way,” she began. “They’re just part of the circle. Call it recycling if it’ll help.”

“It doesn’t,” the teen replied.

“Well, don’t worry about it right now. We’ll take care of it. Now, why don’t you tell us a little about yourselves,” she suggested to break up the atmosphere.

“I’m a photographer,” Paul said. “I was on my way into town to meet with my employer at the magazine office when Scott spotted the sign.”

“A photographer, huh,” John said. “Does taking pictures pay good money?”

“It pays enough for my son and I to live on,” he grudgingly admitted. “How far is it into the center of town?”

“Twenty-one miles.”

After finishing the tea, the couple showed Paul and Scott where they would be staying.

“There’s no air-conditioning, but open the window and a nice breeze blows through at night,” Agnes said. “You have your own upstairs bathroom. You provide your own toiletries. Towels are in the closet. The bed sheets and pillowcase get changed once a week. I provide ‘em. You put ‘em on.”

They went back to the car. Starman handed Scott his duffle bag, and then got in the blue sedan. “I’ll see you this afternoon,” he said to his son.

“Yeah. Good luck, Dad.”

As Paul drove away, he looked in the rearview mirror. Daisy was at Scott’s heels, barking and wanting to play. The teen ignored the dog though, and just stood and watched until he was out of sight.

“C’mon, Scott,” John said. “Put your gear away and I’ll show you around the place.”

George Fox sat at his desk, impatiently waiting for his partner’s morning arrival. Can’t the man ever get here when I do? It seemed Ben was always late into the office. In a way, I suppose I should be thankful, he mused. Those few quiet minutes where I can be alone with my thoughts are priceless. He swiveled his chair around and looked at the map of the United States on the wall. Little colored pushpins marked every place the alien and its son had been. The west coast, and California in particular, looked like someone had peppered the map with pellets from a shotgun. Where are you hiding now, Forrester? he wondered. He and Wiley had come so close last week to capturing the fugitives.

“Good-morning, Sir, “ Ben cheerfully said walking into George’s office holding a bagel stuffed with egg, bacon and cheese in one hand and a large cup of coffee in the other. “I stopped to get breakfast on the way.”

George closed his eyes a moment, then swung the chair around and faced his assistant. “Good-morning, Wiley. You know, you might try leaving your apartment ten minutes earlier. Then maybe you’d get here on time for a change.”

“Yes, Sir,” he glumly replied. I guess we know who woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Not just today. Every day. Doesn’t he ever lighten up? “I’ll get started looking at those reports,” he said, taking another bite of his sandwich and heading for the computer.

“You do that. Oh, and tell Edna to refill my coffee, please.”

“Yes, Sir.” Benjamin Patrick Wiley was beginning to hate this job. It’d been two years since the Starman’s return. He and Fox had logged countless flights, rented numerous cars, and stayed in far too many cheap hotels and motels with nothing to show for it. Forrester managed to elude them nearly every time. Sometimes he wondered if it was all worth it, though he would never say so to his boss. He pushed those thoughts aside and tried to focus on his job. Right now, that meant searching through endless reports for one clue to the alien’s whereabouts.

Starman walked into the magazine office and greeted the receptionist. “Hello. I’m Paul Forrester. I believe Mr. Page is expecting me,” he said to the young woman sitting behind the desk.

“One moment, Sir. Let me check the computer,” she replied and brought up the appointment schedule on the screen. “There’s no name listed. Are you the man Liz Baynes sent?”

“Yes.”

She looked up at the tall kind-faced man. “Take the elevator to the second floor. Mr. Page’s office is three doors down on the right.”

“Thank you.”

Editor-in-chief, Allen Page eagerly awaited his new photographer’s arrival. Liz told him the man she was sending him was supposed to the best in the business. We’ll see. When he asked her for the person’s identity, she told him it would be a surprise. He heard the knock on his office door. “Come in.”

Starman entered the room.

Allen’s eyes opened wide at recognizing the man standing in front of him. “Paul Forrester? Please, sit down. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. When Liz Baynes said she had a photographer for me, I had no idea it would be the famous, Pulitzer Prize winner.”

Paul seated himself and cleared his throat. “I’m not the same man you think I am, Mr. Page,” he said. “I’m not looking for fame.”

“The best usually don’t. It just comes. As long as you give me the pictures I’m looking for, that’s all I care about. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

Allen smiled. “That’s what I want to hear. Now, about the money…”

“Yes, we should discuss that.”

After agreeing upon a fee, the editor-in-chief gave his new photographer his first assignment. “Tomorrow marks the beginning of the strawberry festival in town. There’ll be a parade and contests…”

Paul listened as the man explained the event and told him what was expected of him. “You’ll start at seven sharp tomorrow morning. Report here at that time. Adam Fleming will go with you to write the story.” With the formalities out of the way, he moved on to the social aspects. “Do you have a place to stay yet? I know of a couple good studio apartments for rent at a reasonable rate.”

“My son and I are staying on the Miller farm.”

“Your son?”

“Yes. Scott. We were on our way here when he spotted a sign looking for hired help at the farm. We stopped in and he got the job,” Starman said and smiled proudly.

“Is there a Mrs. Forrester?”

“No.”

“Oh.” He decided to end the interview before he plunged any deeper into unfamiliar territory. “Well, it looks like you’re all set. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Paul stood and shook the man’s hand. “Can you tell me where the nearest grocery or drug store is? I need to pick up some things.”

“Sure. Finn’s is just down the street.”

“How did it go?” Scott asked his father that evening at the dinner table.

“I got the job. There’s a celebration in town tomorrow that he wants me to cover.”

“Oh, yes, the strawberry festival,” Agnes said. “You’ll come with us, Scott. There’s a parade and I’ve got pies in the freezer I’m bringing in for sale. It’s a big event.”

The teen looked at Mr. Miller.

“We’ll get an early start in the mornin’ with the picking. You and I’ll spend the better part of our time getting some stuff at the hardware store while my wife socializes with the other women and sells her pies,” he said.

“He means he’ll be socializing with all the men,” Agnes teased and winked at the boy.

After eating, as Paul helped Mrs. Miller with washing the dishes, Scott approached the woman with his and his father’s laundry. “If you’ll show me where the washing machine and dryer are, I can do our clothes,” he said. The teen was about to get another taste of his Yankee host’s conservatism.

“I’ll show you where the hamper is. You can add your clothes to the pile. I’ll do them tomorrow morning and hang them on the line before we leave.”

“Why not do them tonight and just use the dryer?”

“Waste of electricity,” John grumbled. “We only use it if we have to when it’s raining or snowing. The sun and wind will dry your clothes for free.”

“Is that why you don’t have cable TV either?” he asked.

Starman gave his son an admonishing look, but remained quiet.

“You’re catchin’ on, boy,” the grizzled farmer replied. “Only a dang fool would pay four hundred plus dollars a year to watch what comes for free. You ain’t going to have time to sit and watch TV anyway. You’ll be too busy working during the day and too tired at night to care.”

Despite the farmer’s effort to remain hard and crusty, Scott quickly managed to seep under the old man’s tough exterior and into his soft heart. Secretly, John was very impressed by how fast the kid learned whatever he had had to teach him, like how to gather an egg from under a protective hen, to operating the various pieces of machinery.

Paul came home one day during their first week there to see his son confidently driving the farmer’s tractor and pulling a wagonload of baled hay behind it. He took out his camera and began taking pictures until he finished the roll. Tomorrow he would take the film to the magazine office and get the photo department to develop it. Someday the pictures would find their way into a family album he and Scott were making for Jenny as a history of their travels and of Scott’s growth.

“Hey, Paul, these are great!” Mr. Page said looking at the latest shots Forrester had taken. “But what are these last few?”

Starman smiled. “That’s my son.”

“I think we can use these,” Allen said. “Would you mind?”

“Well, uh,” he hesitated. “I was going to put them in a personal photo album I’ve been making.”

”No problem. I’ll just have the photo department make up an extra set and give them to you.”

Paul carefully thought it over. There was always a risk of Fox spotting any photo he took, but he couldn’t do his job without allowing them to be published. These pictures wouldn’t be finding their way into any of those trashy news tabloids that had gotten him exposed before. George Fox didn’t seem the type of person to be interested in country living magazines. The chances the agent would spot them were remote. “Okay,” he said. “No credit though.”

“Right,” Allen acknowledged. He didn’t understand the photographer’s constant insistence on no credit for his pictures. All he could assume was Paul was in some kind of trouble and wanted to hide. But whatever the reason was, he respected the man’s wishes.

Assistant proofreader, Jimmy Ferra was in charge this week while his boss was off enjoying himself on vacation. He was carefully checking everything twice before sending the latest issue of the magazine off to print. “Uh-oh. Looks like they forgot to include the credit on these photos. I’ll fix that.” He checked the notes to find out who had taken them.

The month of July passed into August. Fox’s secretary, Edna, picked up the latest issue of the New England country lifestyle magazine her sister in Vermont had sent her, and began flipping through its pages. She enjoyed looking at the beautiful color pictures depicting a simpler, less stressful way of life. She came across one showing a teenaged boy driving a tractor with a wide smile on his face. Her eyes widened when she recognized the face and the read the photo credit. “Oh! Mr. Fox! Mr. Fox!” she shouted and grabbed the magazine, bursting into her boss’ office.

George looked at the woman, startled by her excitement. “What is it, Edna?”

She put the magazine on the desk in front of him and opened it to the correct page. “Look, Sir!” she said and pointed.

The agent’s eyes followed her finger. He looked closer and then gazed back up at her. “Edna, I love you,” he said and reached out, pulling her closer over his desk, and giving her a kiss on her forehead.

The woman froze in stunned surprise. She never knew how Fox was going to react, like the time he almost blew a fuse and verbally chastised her when she suggested he should just drop the case.”

“Wiley!” he bellowed. “Get in here!”

“Yes, Sir, Mr. Fox.” Ben appeared at the doorpost haste.

“Wiley, come here and look,” he said and showed his assistant the photo. “At least someone here is on their toes. Good work, Edna.”

“Thank you,” she answered and stepped aside, looking at the pictures of the alien and its son, tacked up on the wall with the map. She felt a sudden twinge of guilt sweep through her as she absently listened to George Fox tell Ben to check and see if he could track down the information they needed to pinpoint Forrester’s whereabouts, and then to give that information to her to arrange transportation for the agents to get there. Her heart went out to Scott Hayden, the handsome teenager who was only a little older than her grandson. Of everything that nagged at her about this case, the one that bothered her the most was the insistence that they capture this young man, too; that and her boss’ constant referral to the teen’s father as an “It” or “That Thing,” not even willing to think of them as human. Deep inside, she felt that was wrong. She went back to her desk, wishing she’d never seen the picture. As she sat there regretting her discovery, a sudden, and bold, idea came to her. It frightened her to believe she could even harbor such a thought. If Mr. Fox ever found out… But thinking of what the man intended to do to the teen, probably locking him away for the rest of his life, just for being Forrester’s son, was something she did not want weighing on her conscience.

George Fox was fuming. “We could get there faster by car,” he complained.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but that’s the earliest flight there was available,” Edna said.

“But they could be in Canada by the time we arrive!” he shouted, then turned to his faithful secretary and noticed her fear. He forced himself to calm down. “It’s okay. I’m sorry,” he apologized in a softer tone. “Tell Wiley to get ready.”

“Yes, Mr. Fox.”

 

Edna raced through the Washington beltway to her apartment, feeling butterflies in her stomach all the way. After reaching the modest place she called home, she stared at the telephone on the dinette shelf for a full minute before picking up the receiver and dialing her older sister. She heard someone answer the ring. “Hello? Evelyn? It’s Edna.”

“Well, hello!”

“ Listen. You’ve got to help me. I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“Calm down, honey. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She swore she could hear her heart beating in her chest, she was that nervous. “If Mr. Fox finds out I’ve said anything about this…”

“I won’t tell him if you won’t,” Evelyn said, trying to lighten the serious mood. Whatever problem her sister had, she concluded it was definitely a major one.

“You know those country living magazines you’ve been sending me? There was a photo in there of Scott Hayden with Paul Forrester’s name below it.”

“So?”

“I can’t explain it all right now. It really doesn’t matter. What matters is you have to get a hold of him, and tell him to get his son and get out of town before tomorrow afternoon.”

“Get a hold of who? Paul Forrester or Scott Hayden?”

“Paul.”

“Why?”

“Because Mr. Fox saw the picture and he’s on his way up there.” Hearing only silence on the other end, Edna said, “This is extremely important, Evelyn. I can’t give you the details, just promise me you’ll do it.”

“If it means that much to you, of course I will. Just tell me where to start looking.”

She gave her sister what information she had and special instructions if she managed to contact the Starman.

“Paul, your assignment today is to cover the blueberry festival. Take Adam with you. Just get me some more great shots like you did at the strawberry festival.”

Starman nodded. What was it with these people’s fascination with celebrating fruits? Was there a raspberry, or a peach, or apple, or pear festival, too? He made a mental note to ask Scott about it tonight after dinner.

“Let’s get going,” Adam Fleming said with a sigh and they headed out the door.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us, Scott? You’ll have a great time,” Agnes said. “Meet other kids your age.”

“No, thanks. I’d rather stay here and mind the place. Who knows? Maybe someone will drop by to buy some eggs.”

“If he wants to stay, let’s get going,” John said to his wife. “Ain’t got all day. We’ll be back late this afternoon.”

“Good luck selling your pies,” the teen told Mrs. Miller. “They’re the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“Why, thank you, Scott.”

“See ya.”

“Oh, Paul,” Allen said, catching sight of the photographer. “I’m glad you’re back. There’s some woman who’s been calling here desperately trying to reach you,” he said and handed Forrester a piece of paper with a phone number on it.

Paul looked at it. It wasn’t familiar. “Did this woman give her name?” he asked. Maybe it was Phyllis or Liz.

“Yeah, Evelyn something.”

His eyebrows furrowed. He knew no one named Evelyn. Who could she be? His curiosity drew him to find out. “May I use your office please?”

“Of course.”

Paul closed the door behind him, then picked up the telephone receiver and dialed the number. Someone answered. “Hello. This is Paul Forrester. May I ask, who you are?”

“Before I tell you that, please promise me you won’t hang up, and you’ll listen to everything I have to tell you.”

This was definitely getting interesting. “Okay,” he said.

“My name is Evelyn. My sister, Edna, works in Washington D.C. as a secretary for some guy named, George Fox.”

Paul’s eyebrows lifted in surprise and alarm. “I’m listening. Please continue.”

“She told me to tell you to get your son, Scott, and get out of town before this afternoon. She said Mr. Fox saw the pictures you took of your kid in the magazine, and he and Wiley are on their way up to Vermont as we speak.”

Starman’s heart began to quicken its pace. Fox is on his way here! “Thank you, Evelyn,” he said and hung up. Mr. Page was just outside waiting to get back into his office. “I’m afraid I’ve got to leave. It’s an emergency,” he explained. “I won’t be coming back,” he finished and hurried out of the building.

“Wait! You won’t be coming back today? Tomorrow? When?”

Evelyn called her younger sister to tell her she’d made the contact.

“Did you notify the local police?” George asked as they neared their destination.

“Yes, Sir.”

They pulled in front of the magazine office. Wiley parked the car and they rushed inside the building. Fox quickly flashed his badge to the receptionist. “I’m George Fox, Federal Security Agency, and this is my associate, Agent Wiley. Where’s the editor’s office?” he demanded.

“Uh, upstairs. Second floor,” she stammered, surprised, and pointed to the elevator. As soon as the two agents were inside, she called Mr. Page and warned him about his two unexpected guests.

The agents entered his office and identified themselves just as he hung up the telephone.

“Do you have a photographer going by the name, Paul Forrester working here?” Fox asked.

“Yes,” Allen answered. “What’s going on?”

“Mr. Forrester and his son are fugitives wanted by the FSA for questioning. Where is he?”

“What did he do?” he asked.

“That’s classified,” George replied. “Now tell me where he is.”

“I sent him on an assignment this morning.”

“Where?”

“He covered the blueberry festival in the center of town.”

“Thank you,” Fox said and turned to leave.

“He’s not there now,” Allen piped up.

George stopped. “Where is he?” he demanded.

“He had an emergency of some kind and left for home about forty minutes ago.”

“Where does Mr. Forrester live?”

“The Miller farm out on Hawkin Road east of town. It’s about twenty miles.”

“Thank you, Mr. Page. C’mon Wiley.”

Allen just stood there stunned. This certainly explained why Paul refused to take any credit for his photos. But what did the man do to warrant the government chasing him, and his son, too? He picked up the phone and called personnel. “Hello, Mary. See if you can get a hold of Paul Forrester for me.” Hopefully the man would be home by now, or soon. If she couldn’t reach him, he’d have her call Liz in Chicago. Maybe she could explain.

John and Agnes were on their way home after the festival.

“Did you see how fast those pies went?” Mrs. Miller boasted to her husband. “You’d think they were made of gold or something.”

“Uh-huh,” he answered when a large car suddenly came up from behind and blared its horn.

“Hold your horses,” Mr. Miller cursed as the driver of the sedan leaned on the horn again.

“What are you waiting for, Wiley? Pass them!” Fox ordered. “The way you’re driving, Forrester’s going to be all the way to the Canadian border by the time we get to that farm.”

“But there’s a double yellow line,” Ben objected. “There’s no passing allowed.” The look on George’s face warned him he’d better do as his boss said or he’d be on the run like the alien and its son. “Yes, Sir.”

Passing on the narrow country road was considered hazardous with its numerous twists and turns.

“Damn fool!” the farmer swore as the other car sped up and pulled onto the opposite lane. The dump truck and the sedan were now side-by-side when a pickup truck appeared ahead, coming in the opposite direction.

“Mr. Fox!” Wiley screamed, and felt George put his foot on top of his and floor the accelerator.

John Miller edged the dump truck as far to the right as he could and leaned on the brakes.

The pickup truck’s driver swerved to the right, narrowly missing the maples lining the embankment as the sedan squeezed between it and the dump truck. “Idiot!” the man yelled.

“Those guys are going to get themselves, or someone else, killed,” John said. He and his wife drove the rest of the way home in silence, each thanking the Lord for their miraculous escape with death.

Paul rushed into the house and called his son’s name loudly. The teen came out of the living room.

“What is it, Dad?” Scott asked alarmed.

“Fox is coming here.”

“What?”

As they hurried packing, he explained, “A woman called me at work. She’s the sister of Mr. Fox’s secretary. She said Fox saw the picture I took of you in the magazine, and my name was on the credit. He’s on his way here right now. She said we have to get out of town by this afternoon.”

Scott heard Daisy barking outside. “I hope that’s the Miller’s,” the teen nervously said, and peeked through the lace curtains covering the window. He felt fear at seeing the strange black car stop in the driveway. The fear turned to panic when he saw the two occupants get out. “Dad! It’s Fox!” he yelled.

“Wiley, go knock on the door. I’ll stand watch here,” George said.

“Yes, Sir,” Ben replied. “Nice dog,” he said, trying to pacify the Shepherd yapping three feet away from his feet.

Paul and Scott bolted out the back door and headed for the fields.

Fox caught a glimpse of movement between the house and the barn. “Wiley! There they are!” he shouted to his assistant and took off in a run.

The Miller’s slowed and pulled into their long driveway.

Paul Forrester and Scott Hayden ran across the wide-open hay field, only seconds ahead of FSA agents, George Fox and Benjamin Wiley, their would-be captors. Paul was just behind his son, both of them desperately seeking the safety of the woods ahead. Just a little bit further and they could use the cover of the brush and trees to aid in their escape.

“Stop, Forrester!” Fox breathlessly yelled , quickly falling into hot pursuit of the two fugitives. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!” Neither showed signs of obeying his order. The FSA agent halted and took aim with his pistol. His chest heaving and his lungs aching, George held his breath for the few seconds necessary to steady his arms, then pulled the trigger. The report of the weapon echoed like a thunderclap in the rolling valley.

“What was that?” Agnes asked.

“Sounded like a gunshot.”

“John, who’s car is that?” she nervously asked her husband as they both spotted the black sedan. Taking a closer look, she said, “Say, isn’t that the car that passed us?”

“It sure is,” Mr. Miller fumed and got out.

Scott heard the loud crack of close-range gunfire, but kept running, not even daring to take a moment to look back. One hundred more feet to go and then he could chance a peek. “C’mon, Dad! We’re almost there!” he panted.

Paul felt the bullet strike him squarely in the back. It went in slightly to the right, penetrating deeply as it glanced off a rib and settled in his lung. The force of the impact knocked his breath out and made him fall forward onto the tall grass.

“Got It!” Fox triumphantly announced to his assistant, Wiley. They hurried to where they saw Forrester go down. “Get the kid,” George ordered as he cautiously approached his victim, training his pistol on It. “Go!”

“Yes, Sir,” Ben said and continued his pursuit.

Paul was face down on the ground. The searing pain in his chest felt like a bomb had exploded. It hurt to breathe. There was the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

George knelt in front of the alien. He saw It was still alive, and in shock. With one hand, he removed the set of handcuffs from his jacket pocket and secured one cuff around its right wrist. He rolled Forrester onto his left side, grabbed his left arm and secured the remaining cuff around the other wrist. He holstered his weapon, did a quick search of the alien, seizing its sphere and wallet, then rose and went around in back to make a closer examination of the wound. He noticed the bright red dribble of blood oozing out of the corner of its lips and from its nose. George pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, folded and stuffed it under Forrester’s shirt, over the wound. I need to get It to a hospital as quickly as possible.

Scott reached the safety of the trees and quickly ducked behind a large sugar maple. His worst fears were confirmed when he did not see his father immediately behind him. No! He silently cried in anguish. There was no time to dwell on what had obviously happened. Fox’s assistant was headed his way and closing the gap. The sixteen-year old bolted and continued deeper into the woods.

Paul opened his pain-filled eyes. He slowly twisted his head to look at Fox gloating over him like he’d just won first prize in a contest. He swallowed and coughed. The effort made the pain worse. The damaged lung was filling with blood.

Fox came back around and stood in front of the Starman, watching It. “Why didn’t you stop, Forrester?” he thought, and absently said it aloud. To his surprise, It heard him and attempted to answer.

“New Hampshire…license… plate,” Paul said weakly, then choked and coughed again.

“What about them?” George wanted to know, curious at the odd response. He patiently waited for Forrester’s reply, noticing its difficulty at the effort to speak.

“Answer...there.”

Fox watched the alien close its eyes and softly moan, struggling to breathe. George looked up and saw his partner returning, alone.

“I lost him, Sir. I’m sorry,” he said, winded.

“That’s okay. We’ll catch the boy later.”

He looked down at his boss, then at the wounded alien. “How bad?”

“Get back to the farmhouse,” Fox ordered. “Use their phone and call 911. Get an ambulance out here as fast as possible.”

“Shouldn’t we get him in the car and take him to a hospital ourselves?” Wiley suggested.

“No. Make that call first,” George replied. “We’ll take it to the house when you get back. You’re wasting time. Go!” he barked.

“Yes, Sir,” he replied and took off running.

Please don’t let It die, Fox prayed. As he watched Forrester, he began to think about its response. He tried to picture the license plate of the northern New England state, but drew a blank. Something’s on it, but what? He started thinking of state mottos and began running them through his mind. Let’s see. Rhode Island is the Ocean State. Massachusetts is the Bay State, though its license plates don’t say so. Connecticut has the word, Constitution, stamped on theirs. Maine’s says Vacationland. And Vermont’s said The Green Mountain State. What’s on New Hampshire’s? For some reason, his mind refused to cooperate. He looked at the still alien. “What about New Hampshire’s license plate?” he asked again, but the Starman did not reply. “Forrester?” He edged closer, took his hand and placed it on the alien’s arm, shaking It. “Forrester? Can you hear me?” he asked again, genuinely concerned now. There was no response. Only the slight rise and fall of its chest assured him it was still alive. It must’ve passed out. He wished for Wiley’s speedy return.

John saw the tall business-suited man coming from the hayfield. “Who are you?” he asked.

“Benjamin Wiley, Federal Security Agency,” he replied breathlessly, and pulled out his ID to show the man and woman. “I need to use your phone. I need to get an ambulance.”

“What for?”

“One of the suspects we’ve been chasing has been shot.”

“We?”

“Yes. My boss and I. He’s in the field waiting.”

John glanced at his wife and back at the agent. “Use the phone in the barn. It’s in the feed room on the right,” he said. When the man was out of earshot, he told his wife, “Go inside the house. Tell Paul and Scott what happened. I’m going to follow him.”

O o O o o

Scott was making his way back to the field. It was rough, climbing over fallen logs and stonewalls, but he kept going. He knew his father would disapprove of his attempting a rescue, but he had to try. Scott stopped, unsure of what direction to take. In the heat of escape, he hadn’t particularly paid attention to where he was running. He pulled out his sphere. It took extra effort to concentrate and make it do what he wanted it to, but he finally succeeded and it connected with his father’s magic marble. He slowly turned, first to the right, then to the left, trying to feel the strongest response from the glowing orb. There. Bearing slightly to the left. He returned the sphere to his pocket and proceeded as fast as he could, tromping through the thick brush.

“Paul? Scott?” Agnes called out as she entered the kitchen, expecting to find the boy and his father there. The house was eerily quiet. Forrester’s car is out there. She began to get an uneasy feeling in her stomach as she called their names again. There was no reply. She took off out the back way to the hayfield.

George breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Wiley return, but tensed at seeing the other man with him. “Who’s he?”

“I’m John Miller and this is my farm,” the farmer said stepping closer. He looked at the figure lying on the grass. “That’s Paul! Surely you’ve made a mistake.”

“There’s no mistake,” Fox said. “Forrester and his son are fugitives and wanted by the FSA for questioning.”

“Why? What have they done? And where’s Scott?” he asked, looking around, then turned as he heard his wife calling out and coming down the hill at a run.

“I’m afraid that’s classified.”

“John! John, they’re not in the house,” she shouted and stopped next to her husband. “Oh, my God!” she exclaimed, seeing Paul’s still body. “Honey, what’s going on?” she asked.

“This guy says Paul and Scott are fugitives.”

“No. That has to be a mistake. Paul and Scott are two of the kindest people we’ve ever met. “ She noticed the teen’s absence. “Where is Scott?”

“Lady,” Fox stood and approached the woman. “Paul Forrester and Scott Hayden are very dangerous.”

“I don’t believe that,” she retorted, shrinking behind John.

“I don’t care what you think, Madam,” George said menacingly. He turned his attention to Wiley. “Did you reach the police?”

“Yes, Sir. He let me use the phone in the barn. It’s going to take some time for the ambulance to get here. Talk about living in the boonies…” He looked at Forrester lying motionless. “Is he…?”

“No. It’s still alive.”

“I think we should get him to the house, Sir. It’ll be that much closer when they finally get here.”

Fox looked at his wounded prize. “You’re right.”

With the farmer’s help, Wiley lifted Paul. They began carrying him. Thankfully, the Starman was still unconscious. They slowly began making the arduous trek up the long hill.

As they walked, Fox asked him, “Have you seen a New Hampshire license plate recently?”

Wiley was puzzled by the unusual question, as were the Miller’s. “No. Why?” Ben asked.

Fox told him, “I was absently thinking aloud and asked Forrester, why It didn’t stop at my warning. It said something about a New Hampshire license plate. It said the answer to my question was there.”

“Odd,” Ben said as he concentrated on keeping his footing.

“Do you remember what they look like?”

“What?”

“The license plate, you idiot!” Fox fumed.

John looked at his wife. They both disliked this little man’s rough attitude. And why was he calling Paul an It?

“Oh. Yes,” Wiley said.

“Well?” Fox impatiently pressed on.

“They’re cream with green letters. Some of the new ones have a picture of ‘The Old Man On The Mountain’ in the middle.”

“Anything else?” George asked and anxiously waited for the man to reply. Sometimes the man was so slow.

“They say ‘Live Free Or Die’ on them,” Agnes said and glared at the short FSA man. They heard Forrester moan.

Scott found the clearing and saw his dad being carried away by the tall agent and Mr. Miller. He fought down the lump in his throat, and the fear in his heart, and reached into his pocket for the sphere. He wished he didn’t have to reveal his and his father’s secret to the friendly couple, but this was one of those times where he had no choice. He couldn’t let Fox take his dad. In his heart, he knew he could trust the Miller’s to keep their secret. He started after them.

“Easy,” Ben said to the Starman. “We’re getting you medical help.”

The moan grew louder into a groan.

Something nagged at the back of Fox’s brain. He didn’t know what, but it compelled him to take a look back. His heart quickened at seeing Scott following them. “Wiley, stop,” he said. “There’s the kid.”

They did and turned to look.

George reached into his suit jacket and pulled his service revolver out. “Hold it right there, Scott,” he shouted.

“What are you doing?” John and Agnes said together, outraged by Fox’s actions.

“He’s just a boy!” Mrs. Miller said.

“He’s not even armed!” Mr. Miller added.

Starman’s son saw Fox draw his gun and aim it at him. He concentrated on the sphere.

Fox’s anticipation of the boy’s surrender quickly vanished as he yelped and tossed his gun away. He cursed and cradled his singed fingers for a moment, then turned to Wiley. He reached under his partner’s suit jacket and grabbed Ben’s pistol from its holster. Again, the gun turned hot and he was forced to drop it. The boy was getting closer and George could now clearly see the rage written on Scott’s face.

John and Agnes stood there astonished at the sight of the glowing marble in Scott’s hand.

“You hold it, Fox!” the young man said. “Take two steps back.”

The agent made a lame attempt to get his weapon, but was knocked back by some invisible force.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” He turned to Ben and Mr. Miller. “Put my father down,” Scott told Wiley. “Gently.” The sphere was still glowing in his hand.

“What is that thing?” Mrs. Miller asked, suddenly afraid.

George fearfully watched as the alien’s half-breed offspring stooped down and picked up both guns. He stuffed Wiley’s automatic in his pants pocket, then pointed his revolver at him.

Scott put his sphere away for the moment. “You,” he motioned to Wiley. “Get your handcuffs and chain him,” meaning Fox, “to that tree. Hands behind his back.”

The tall agent reluctantly complied.

“Scott. What are you doing?” Mrs. Miller asked.

The teen temporarily ignored the woman and her husband.

“Now, release my dad.”

“Wiley, don’t do it!” Fox yelled.

Ben took his set of keys and unlocked the cuffs.

“I’ll take the keys,” Scott said and stretched his hand out. The agent gave it to him. “Now, put one end of those cuffs around your wrist and go to the other tree.”

Scott pulled the tall man’s arms around and fastened the remaining cuff. That done, he went to search Fox’s pockets for his father’s sphere and ID. The agent didn’t make it easy for him, but placing the pistol’s barrel against Fox’s neck stopped further resistance. Retrieving the items, he moved to stand in front of the short FSA agent. “I should kill you,” he said menacingly, then took the guns and emptied them of their ammunition, throwing the bullets as far away as he could. Scott placed both weapons on the ground, well out of the agents reach, then went to kneel by his father.

“You heard that, Wiley,” George crowed. “You, too!” he looked at the Miller’s. “You all saw him threaten me. I told you they’re a danger. You won’t get away with this!” he angrily shouted and tugged on his handcuffs.

Ben, John and Agnes remained silent.

Scott ignored the FSA man’s remarks and checked his dad’s wound. “Oh, God!” he choked. The lump was back in his throat. He pulled out his sphere and concentrated on it. He didn’t know how much time he had before the troops arrived, but only hoped it would be enough.

The Miller’s slowly came closer. “Scott? Please explain what’s going on? Why is the government after you and Paul? And what is that thing?”

The teen wanted nothing more than to begin healing his father, but he also knew he had to take a few seconds to explain everything. He vowed to make it as brief as possible. He saw the fear in their eyes. “Please, don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.”

“Don’t listen to him!” Fox shouted. “”Run! Get back to the house. Get a gun if you have one.”

The couple didn’t move.

“He’s right about one thing,” the teen agreed. “You shouldn’t listen to him.”

“We’re waiting, Son. You can start by telling us what that glowing thing is,” John said.

“It’s a part of who and what my dad and I are.”

Agnes stared at the boy. “I don’t understand.”

Scott took a deep breath. “My father doesn’t come from here, “ he said.

“What do you mean?”

“How stupid can you people be?” George shouted. “He’s telling you he’s an alien for Christ sake! They aren’t even human!”

“Stop saying that! My father is human! His body’s all human!” Scott shouted. “And so am I! At least half of me is,” he said in a softer voice.

“Is that true? You come from…out there?” the woman asked and pointed skyward.

The teen nodded. “My father does. I was born here. My mom’s from Wisconsin. That’s why Fox has been chasing me for my whole life, and my father ever since he came back to help me two years ago.”

The agents quietly listened.

“Fox thinks we’re a danger, but we’re not,” Scott continued. “All we want is to find my mother and live in peace, but that won’t happen as long as the government keeps chasing us,” he finished and glared at Fox.

“You’re right about that!”

Scott looked at the couple again. “See what I mean? We’ll never be free. Maybe I should just give up and let them kill us.”

“No. Don’t talk like that,” the woman said and knelt beside the teenager, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He was finished answering questions. Time was running out. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to heal him now, before…” he said and choked back tears, unable to finish the sentence.

Fox, Wiley and the Miller’s watched in silence and fascination as the silver marble began to glow again.

Scott almost lost it completely when he heard his father groan, and saw him clench his fists in pain, as he concentrated on removing the slug. After a couple tense minutes, it appeared at the skin surface. He picked up the mushroomed-over cartridge and glared at the two FSA agents, then violently threw the misshapen bullet at Fox. He went back to concentrating on the sphere.

Starman felt the burning in his chest slowly melt away. He was so sleepy.

The minutes slowly passed. How many, Scott didn’t know, or care, but the distant wail of approaching sirens forced him to stop his ministrations.

“Is it done?” Mrs. Miller asked, seeing Paul slipped into unconsciousness again.

“No, but the cops are coming. I’ve got to get him someplace safe where I can finish healing him.” He looked at Fox and Wiley. “Leave us alone. Please,” he begged, though he knew it was useless. “We’ve never meant you any harm.”

“Liar. What about the destruction of Peagrum? What do you call that? ” George spat.

“That was self-defense and you know it!” the teen hotly fired back. “If Uncle Wayne hadn’t helped us get away from you, you would have experimented on us until you killed us! You still want to!”

“That’s right! You and that…thing, you call your father, are pollution to Earth’s humanity. How many more alien ‘seeds’ has your father left here? What kind of damage has it done to the human race? How much of humanity’s purity has it contaminated?”

“We’re not contamination! And stop calling him an It!”

Ben looked at his boss incredulously. He knew Fox considered these two a danger, but “pollution”? This was going in an entirely new direction; one he was not comfortable going in. When did Mr. Fox begin thinking like this? he wondered.

Scott had heard enough. It was no use trying to reason with the man. He took a deep breath to try to control his anger. “Dad says there’s good in everyone. You just have to look hard enough and you’ll find it. But he’s wrong. There is no good in you, Fox,” he snarled. “He should’ve left you to die at Building 11. Then you’d be out of our hair for good.”

“What do you mean?”

“Figure it out for yourself,” Scott said.

Wiley’s eyes widened at the stunning revelation. He looked at his boss. “Don’t you see, Sir? It was he. Forrester. He must’ve healed you when you had the heart attack. That explains how you got your health back so quickly.”

“No!”

Ben had listened to enough. He’d taken more than a hefty dose of Fox’s abuse over the years. “Then you’re as blind as you are a fool,” he said. He was also man enough to admit when he believed he was making a mistake, and arresting Forrester and Scott was a mistake. “Scott,” he said. “I want to help. Let me go.”

“Traitor!” George shouted. “You’re fired! I’ll see you eviscerated for this!”

“Go ahead,” Wiley smiled. “But I think General Wade will have your guts spread on the table after I finish telling him what you and Scott just told us.”

Mr. and Mrs. Miller just watched the confrontation in silence.

Scott stood in front of Ben. His heart was pounding. What should I do? The sirens were getting closer. “You want to help? The only way you can do that, is by closing the case against us and making sure we never see his face again!” he spat and glared at Fox.

“I’ll see to it when we get back to Washington. I’ll personally recommend to General Wade that the Agency drop the case against you and your dad,” he promised. He just hoped the general would agree.

“It’ll never happen, Hayden,” George laughed. “You can run, but I’ll find you and that…thing, again,” he sneered. “It won’t take me long to convince General Wade I’m right about you and It. Then you’ll be back in the lab. We’ll finish what we started and I’ll make sure no one helps you escape this time.”

Scott was tired, physically and emotionally. What he wanted least of all was to listen to this man’s threats. He instinctively reached into his pocket for his sphere, took it out and looked at Fox. “I wish you’d just shut up and go to sleep.” Thought turned into command and the silver marble activated. The short agent sat down, his head dropping to rest on his chest. George was out to the world.

“What did you do to him?” Mrs. Miller asked, amazed and still a little frightened.

“I think he just put that nut to sleep,” John replied with a smile.

“Your father needs a doctor,” Ben pleaded, hoping the young man would listen. “He’s lost a lot of blood. You know that. Let me get help.”

“Us,” Mr. Miller corrected.

Scott just stood there thinking over his options. Finally, he nodded and knelt by the Starman.

“Give me the keys, Son,” John gently said and held out his hand.

Scott gave them to the farmer and the man went to release the tall agent.

“If you’ll help me with Mr. Forrester,” Ben said to Mr. Miller.

The man nodded.

The gentle agent looked into Scott’s worried eyes and placed his hands on the teen’s shoulders. He could feel the young man trembling. “Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.”

“Just help him, okay?” he said and wiped the tears from his face with a shaking hand. He sincerely hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.

Agent Wiley picked up his gun and holstered it, pocketed Fox’s, then he and the farmer lifted the Starman and started to carry him up to the house.

“What about Mr. Fox?” Agnes asked.

“I’ll come back and take care of him after we get Mr. Forrester into an ambulance,” Ben said.

“We’ll all carry Paul up,” Mrs. Miller said, as she and Scott linked hands underneath the Starman’s torso, easing the strain on the wound.

It made for a tense situation when the police cruiser, followed by the ambulance, arrived.

“He’s in the barn,” Agent Wiley told them.

The officers noticed the nervous young man sitting in the hay, cradling the tall, dark-haired man’s head in his lap. Recognizing the unconscious man and the boy as the two fugitives from the descriptions the agents had given them earlier; one of the officers pulled out his pistol and trained it on the teen. “You’re under arrest.”

“No!” Ben shouted and stood in the line of fire in front of the policeman.

“These are the two you had an alert on,” the man countered.

“Yes, but there’s no need for the guns.”

Agnes and John watched the terrified teenager and empathized with him. It certainly explained Scott’s declining every offer they’d made to him to go to town with them grocery shopping and to come to the festival. If this is what his life’s been like…no wonder he wanted to stay out here in isolation, she sadly thought. “Toby Hoffman, put that cannon away!” she echoed to her husband’s hunting friend.

“Did you and John know these two were wanted?” the other policeman asked her.

“No. We just found out ourselves.”

Wiley took charge of the conversation again. “I’m going to recommend the charges against them be dropped. I’m letting them go. Please. Put the gun away.”

The officer complied, but kept a watchful eye on the frightened young man. The EMT’s moved in to work on Forrester.

“Where’s the other guy who was with you?”

“Yeah, the short guy,” the second officer said.

“He’s down in the field, handcuffed to a tree. I’m placing him under arrest.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re arresting your boss?”

“The man’s more than a few notches off center,” John piped up. It was the least offensive way he could think of to describe the government man.

“I’ll explain everything to you later,” Wiley said. “Right now we need to get Mr. Forrester to a hospital.”

The first problem of several for Wiley, came when the doctors took x-rays of Starman’s single entry, no-exit, gunshot wound, and found no bullet. “Scott removed it,” was all he offered.

“I examined the wound,” the doctor said. “It looks like it’s at least a week old, but as I understand it; Mr. Forrester was shot this afternoon. Can you explain this?” he asked.

“I’m afraid that information is classified,” Ben told him.

The man was clearly puzzled. “I don’t understand.”

“I know, and I’m sorry I can’t solve your mystery. Just do your best to help him,” he said and went to find the Miller’s.

“I’ve got to go to the police station now,” Ben told them.

“You’re really swimming in hot water, aren’t you?” Agnes said.

The tall agent smiled at them. “I’ll survive.”

“So what will happen now?”

“There’ll be an internal investigation into the case. That’s good news for Mr. Forrester and Scott. Even though the case is technically, still open, it’ll be in limbo until the investigation is over. That means they can take a breather from running for a while,“ he said. “Hopefully, they won’t have to ever run again. If you’ll give me your telephone number, I can keep in touch and let you, and them, know how it goes.”

John wrote it down in the agent’s note pad.

Ben gave the farmer his business card. “This is in case you want-- or need-- to call me. I assume you’ll take Scott home?”

“Of course. We’ll take care of him, and his father. Good luck to you,” John said.

“Thank you.”

When Starman regained consciousness, he opened his eyes and looked around as best as he could. I’m in a hospital, he deduced. He expected to see George Fox in the room. He was surprised, and a bit confused, that neither Fox nor his assistant, Wiley, was there. Even more surprising was finding himself not restrained by the handcuffs he remembered the agent putting on him. He reasoned perhaps they needed to remove them to insert the intravenous needle now securely taped to his wrist. But experimentally testing the boundaries of his freedom, he discovered his legs were not restrained or chained to the bed either. A nurse walked in.

“Oh, good. You’re awake. I’ll go get the doctor.”

“Wait,” Paul croaked. “Where’s my son?” he asked.

“What’s his name?”

“Scott Hayden,” he answered and grimaced. The nurse noticed.

“Are you feeling pain?”

“Yes,” Paul nodded.

“Let me get the doctor and I’ll see about finding your son,” she told him.

A few minutes later, Scott walked in. “Dad,” he softly cried and took his father’s hand.

“Just five minutes,” Paul heard the nurse saying to someone on the other side of the curtain. Mr. and Mrs. Miller appeared.

“You heard?” the farmer asked Scott and saw the teen nod.

“We can’t stay long,” he told his father and gazed into his searching eyes. “The doctor said you’re going to be okay.”

“I don’t understand. Where’s Fox?” Starman weakly asked.

“We can talk about that tomorrow,” John politely intervened. “It’s late. You need to rest now. I’ll bring him back here early in the morning. Try to sleep.”

The gentle extraterrestrial nodded and closed his eyes.

Seven hours later, Scott and Mr. Miller were in Paul’s hospital room.

“Scott, do you know how to remove this needle?” Starman asked, showing him the IV in his hand.

“Why? What are you going to do, Dad?”

“I’m getting out of here.”

The teen and the farmer looked at each other.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” John said. “You don’t exactly look like you’re in any condition to leave.”

“I’ll be all right,” he said and looked at his son.

“He knows, Dad. They saw me use the sphere. I told them everything.” Now that his father was conscious, Scott finally informed him about Wiley changing sides. “He decided to help us after I told him what you did for Mr. Fox.”

Paul smiled. “I’m glad, but we can talk about it later. Right now, I want to get out of here. You can heal me when we get back to the farm. Help me get dressed,” he said and extended his arm to his son for assistance.

“Oh, boy,” the farmer blew out under his breath. “I’ll bring the truck up front.”

“No. We’ll take the emergency stairs,” the teen said. “That way no one will see us leave.”

“Okay. I’ll be waiting.”

John and Scott helped Paul into the house, and up to his room. The slow trip up the stairs, even with his son and the farmer’s assistance, taxed the Starman’s strength to his limit. He dropped down heavily onto the bed.

Mrs. Miller came up and joined them in the room. She noticed Paul was shivering with exhaustion. She took the blanket and covered him.

Scott sat down on the bed next to his father and pulled out his sphere. “Just relax. I’ll have you as good as new in no time.”

He just nodded, too tired to give a verbal reply.

The farmer couple watched with fascination, and still a little bit of fear, as the silver ball in the boy’s hand began to glow and hum. Scott placed his other hand over his dad’s wound. A soft blue glow hovered over the area. They could see Forrester visibly relax under his son’s touch.

Several minutes later, Scott removed his hand and deactivated the sphere. “There. Do you feel better?”

Paul rolled onto his back and smiled at his son. “Yes. Much better. Thank you. You did a fine job.” He looked at John and Agnes. “Scott and I will leave now.”

The couple was taken by surprise.

“What? No you won’t. I won’t hear of it,” Agnes protested. “You still need to rest,” she told Starman.

“I assure you, Mrs. Miller. I’m fine now.” To prove his point, he sat up and removed his shirt. “Scott, would you take the bandage off?”

The boy did and the couple stepped closer and examined Paul’s back.

“That’s amazing! There’s not even a scar!” she exclaimed.

“No,” he grinned. He started to get up, but put his hand to his head and quickly sat down again.

“Dad! What’s wrong?” Scott asked, fearful he’d missed something or made some mistake in the healing.

“I feel dizzy.” The wound was healed. The blood they’d given him at the hospital replaced what he had lost. But he was still weak. He lay down again. “I guess I need to regain my strength,” he reluctantly admitted with a grin.

“That’s right,” Mrs. Miller said. “You stay right there. I’m going to make you a pot of the best medicine I know to get you back on your feet,” she said and left.

“Chicken soup,” John told him at his mystified expression.

Paul looked at the farmer and then at his son. “Why don’t you tell me what happened after Mr. Fox shot me,” he said, interested to hear about agent Wiley’s turnaround.

Scott recalled yesterday’s incident in its entirety.

“I understand why Wiley decided to help us. May I ask what convinced you to?” Starman asked Mr. Miller.

“There were several reasons. First, I didn’t like the way Mr. Fox addressed my wife or his own partner. Second, I didn’t like the way he pulled a gun on your son, or what he threatened to do to both of you. Lastly, I don’t care who you are, where I come from, you don’t shoot an unarmed man in the back. That just burned my craw. And seeing where you were hit, I’m sure he was shootin’ to kill.”

“He’s afraid of me.”

“Does he have reason to be?”

Paul focused his eyes on his son, but his response was addressed to the farmer. “Scott said he told you everything. Then you know what I did to the government laboratory the night we escaped.”

“Yeah. He said his uncle helped you, and you used that marble to destroy the place.”

“I destroyed the computers containing all the information they gathered about us. That’s all. I didn’t destroy the building or hurt any of the people,” he corrected. “There’s no reason for you to fear me. I would never hurt you,” he assured and sadly gazed at the man.

After the Starman had finished eating, John and Agnes went to talk to their special guests again.

“Paul, Scott, we want you to stay here,” Mrs. Miller said. She went on to explain. “You’ve been like a son to us, and Scott’s become like a grandson.” Seeing the Starman ready to object, she held out her hand, pointing a finger to silence him. “Let me finish. That agent, Wiley, suggested you stay here as well. He said technically, your case is still open, but you should be safe here for a while, while its being investigated. He said he’d call us as soon as he can and let us know what’s going on.”

Starman looked at the couple, and then at his son. They were still in danger.

The Miller’s noticed the worry written on Paul’s face.

“We want to help,” John said. “Why not stay at least until we hear from him? There are some caves back in the woods you can hide in, should things go wrong. I used to play in them as a kid. There’s also a tunnel in the cellar leading to the barn, if you need to escape here in a hurry.”

Paul thought it over and agreed. “Okay. We’ll stay. I guess I should call Mr. Page and see if I can get my job back. I left in a hurry and told him I wouldn’t be returning.”

“Give me the number and I’ll call him,” Agnes said. “I’ll tell him you’re in no condition to go back to work yet.”

After washing the dishes, she placed the call to the magazine office. “Hello. May I speak with Mr. Page please?” she asked, and heard the woman on the other end request her identification. “Mrs. Miller. I’m calling in regard to Paul Forrester.” She waited while the woman transferred her call.

“Hello, Mr. Page. I’m calling to tell you Paul won’t be in to work today. He’s had an accident.”

“An accident?” Allen repeated. “He told me he had an emergency and left. Then two federal agents barged in here looking for him and his son. The agent said they were wanted for questioning. Do you know what’s going on? What kind of trouble is he in?” he demanded in an urgent tone.

“I can’t tell you everything, but I can tell you there’s been a terrible mistake. That agent, Wiley, is trying to straighten things out right now. To answer your other question: Paul’s been shot.”

“Shot!” he replied alarmed. Afterward in a calmer tone, he asked, “Is he all right?”

“He’s home resting and recuperating. It’ll be a few days until he’s well enough to go back to work. That’s if he still has a job?” she inquired.

“That depends. Is it possible for me to speak with him?”

“How about I have him call you this afternoon?” Agnes suggested.

“I’ll be waiting,” Mr. Page said and hung up.

Agnes went upstairs to give Paul Forrester the news. “I called your boss. I’m not sure if you still have your job or not. You can call him later today.”

Starman looked at her with worry. “What did you tell him?”

She gave him the specifics. “I told him you’d been shot. I also told him that there’d been a mistake, and that agent, Wiley, was working to straighten this mess out.”

“Thank you.” He looked at his son. “Scott, if you’ll help me downstairs, I’ll call him right now.”

“You can do that later,” she said.

“But if I’ve lost my job, I won’t have the money I need to pay next week’s rent.”

“Worry about the rent later. You need to take care of yourself first. Rest.”

Paul would not resign himself to losing the debate. “Scott,” he called and extended his hand. “I’ll go back to bed as soon as I talk to him. I promise,” he assured her.

“Make sure you do,” she nodded and left the room.

John smiled at Starman. “She’s like one of those hens in the coop: protective.”

Paul grinned. “She cares. Be glad that she does.”

Edna spotted her boss’ assistant walking down the hall. She hurried to catch up to him. “Mr. Wiley,” she called, and studied the face of mild-mannered agent. “Sir, I don’t want to be a bother to you, but I was hoping you could explain what happened,” she asked softly. “They told me you and Mr. Fox wouldn’t be needing my services for a while.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What happened?” she asked again.

“I was forced to place Mr. Fox under arrest,” he admitted.

“Oh, my goodness. What about Mr. Forrester and the boy? Did you catch them?” she gently pried.

“That’s partially what made me arrest him. Mr. Fox shot Mr. Forrester.”

“Oh, no,” she exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hand. I don’t understand. Evelyn said she contacted him. I guess it was just too late. She dreaded asking the next question. “Is he dead?”

“No,” Ben smiled. “It was amazing. Scott removed the bullet, then Mr. Miller and I got him into an ambulance and to a hospital.”

Edna felt relief, learning the Starman was still alive. “That’s good news. I’m glad.”

“Yes. So am I,” he said, surprised by the woman’s reply. I wonder if she feels the same way I do about this case?

There was a moment of silence as the two regarded each other.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, Mr. Wiley, just let me know.”

“Oh, I will.”

They parted ways.

When Edna got home she called her sister to tell her what happened to Forrester and George Fox.

“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry honey. Did Mr. Fox kill him?”

“No. He’s in the hospital and I’m assuming he’s going to be alright.”

“Is there something else you want me to do?”

She thought about that. She couldn’t risk exposing her involvement in all this. “No,” she said. “Everything’s in limbo here right now. If I need anything more, I’ll let you know. Thanks sister.”

“Anytime, Edna. That’s what sisters are for: to help.”

Mrs. Miller looked out the window of the front door. “He’s here,” she said to her husband and opened it. “Please, come in Mr. Wiley,” she said and smiled.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” the tall agent replied in his soft southern voice as he entered the kitchen. “Mr. Miller,” he politely greeted and pulled out a chair. “Where are they?”

“Did you come alone?” John asked, eying the man.

“Yes.”

The farmer searched Ben’s face for any clues that he was lying. The agent seemed sincere. He nodded. “I’ll go get them,” he said and left.

“I must tell you,” Agnes piped up after her husband was gone, “It’s been a tense week. Paul was worried he’d lost his job. He didn’t,” she told him when she saw his concern. “He and Scott, mostly Scott, have been like two restless children dreading their return to school after summer vacation. I hope you forgive our caution. They, and we, weren’t sure if this might be a trap to capture them again.”

“I understand,” Ben sadly replied. He smiled at seeing the alien and his son. “Hi, Scott. Mr. Forrester. You’re looking much better.”

“Thank you,” Paul said with a smile. “I feel much better, too.”

“Yes, I’ll bet you do. Boy, am I glad you two didn’t decide to run again. I need your help.”

The Starman gave the man an anxious look. “Why? What’s happened?”

The agent told them about the pending investigation into the case. “Mr. Fox and I are on unpaid leave right now.”

“He means they’re suspended,” John clarified.

Paul’s eyebrows lifted. “You mean they fired you?”

Wiley grinned. “No. Not yet. But they will if I can’t gather enough evidence to prove my actions were justified.”

“I imagine they’ll do more than that,” Mr. Miller said, and added, “He’ll end up in a federal penitentiary for a very long time and you two will still be wanted. Am I right?”

Ben cast his eyes downward and nodded.

The gentle alien was stunned. “You mean they’ll put you in a cage?”

“Yes,” the agent said, touched by Starman’s concern for him, and bemused by his unique description of a prison. Only this Being could describe the government internment facility for what it truly was with such striking, child-like simplicity. He looked up at the Starman with renewed purpose. “That’s why we must win. You help me and it’ll ultimately help you, too. Now, how many people do you know who would be willing to testify on your behalf?”

Paul leaned back in his chair and thought about the answer. “Let’s see. I think we can add the Miller’s here,” he said and smiled at them.

“Absolutely,” Agnes replied.

“Dr. Duchow might be willing to help me, as well as Kathryn Bradford.”

“Don’t forget Casey Flynn,” Scott added.

They continued giving Ben more names.

“Wow, that’s quite a list,” the agent said.

“Oh, there’s one more name you might want to put on there,” Paul said.

“Sure. Who is it?” Ben asked, ready to write it down.

“Edna.”

“What’s her last name?”

“I don’t know it, but you would,” he smiled.

“Oh? Why is that?” the agent asked curious.

“She’s Mr. Fox’s secretary.”

Ben dropped his pen and stared at the Starman in stunned surprise. Oh, my God. If Mr. Fox ever knew… I wonder how long she’s been helping them?

Paul seemed to sense the man’s unspoken questions. “It was her sister, Evelyn, who called and warned me to leave here,” he explained. “I was rather, shall I say…amazed, to get the call.”

“Not as much as I am right now to hear about it.”

Wiley nervously walked into General Wade’s office carrying a briefcase. His whole future, not to mention Paul and Scott’s futures, rested on the outcome of this meeting.

“Sit down, Agent Wiley.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The general opened a file in front on his desk. “There are some very serious charges against you, Agent,” Wade began. “Insubordination and treason among them. I’ve already heard Mr. Fox’s account of this incident and have his statement. I’m ready to hear yours. What do you have to say?”

Ben cleared his dry throat. “I know, Sir. But, if you’ll listen to everything I have to tell you, I think you’ll see that my actions were right.” At least that’s what he hoped.

“I’m listening.”

The agent began his story.

“And then Mr. Fox ordered me to pass the old farmers. This isn’t the first time he’s ordered me to do something dangerous like this turned out to be. When the pickup truck appeared coming in the opposite direction, I thought that was it; we were goners. I don’t know how, but we squeezed by a hair’s breath.”

Wade nodded and urged Ben to continue.

“We caught up with Forrester and his son on the Miller farm. They were trying to escape from us by running across a hayfield into the woods. Mr. Fox ordered them to stop or he said he’d shoot. The alien didn’t, and Mr. Fox shot him in the back.”

The general stopped Wiley. “Did you say Mr. Fox shot Forrester in the back?”

“Yes, Sir,” he sadly admitted.

This was disturbing news. All agents were trained in shooting to disable a fleeing suspect by aiming for a body part like the legs. Deadly force was used only if the suspect was armed and intended to return fire. “Was Mr. Forrester armed?”

“No, Sir. Well, yes, Sir.”

“Which is it?” he asked confused.

“He had that silver marble thing he’s used to escape before if you want to count that as a weapon.”

“Did he intend to use it when Mr. Fox fired?”

“No. It wasn’t in his hand. I assume it was in his pants pocket.”

Wade wrote down the information. “Continue.”

“We caught up to Forrester, and Mr. Fox ordered me to keep after the kid. I lost him and came back. He told me to go back to the house and ask the owners for the use of their phone. That’s when I ran into the Miller’s. I made the call and Mr. Miller and I went back to where Forrester and Fox were.

“Mrs. Miller joined us, and unknowingly confirmed the fugitives had been staying with them on the farm. Mr. Miller and I picked Forrester up and started to carry him back to the house. Scott came out of hiding and got the drop on us,” Ben said embarrassed. “Mr. Fox pulled his gun on the boy, but the kid disarmed us with that glowing marble of his and handcuffed us to a tree.” The agent watched the general scribbling down more notes. “Then Scott took our guns, unloaded them and threw the bullets away. After, he went and checked on his wounded father. The farmer couple asked for an explanation of what was going on and what that pinball thing was. I listened as he told them about his and his father’s origins.”

“They know Forrester is an alien?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And they still were willing to aid them in escaping?”

“Yes, Sir. I think Mr. Fox’s threats against Scott and his father helped enforce their decision.”

“Threats?”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll get to that part. If I may continue?”

The general nodded.

“The couple were scared, but they listened to Scott, as I did. Then he used that glowing ball on Forrester. I watched Scott remove the bullet and angrily throw it at Mr. Fox. He kept concentrating on healing his father, until he heard the approaching cruiser and ambulance sirens. He walked up to Mr. Fox and myself and asked us to leave them alone, saying all they want to do is live in peace and find Mrs. Hayden. But Mr. Fox said he was going to catch them again and take them back to Peagrum to finish the experiments we started. Then he started talking about Forrester and Scott as a pollution of humanity.”

“Would you mind repeating that?” General Wade said, flabbergasted.

Wiley cast his eyes down. “Yes, Sir. Mr. Fox called them a ‘pollution’ of Earth’s humanity. He said Scott was an alien ‘seed’, then asked the boy what kind of damage his father had done to the human race, and how much of our purity his father had contaminated.”

Wade closed his eyes and leaned back heavily against his leather chair, shaking his head sadly. My God, George. What’s happened to you? I knew I should’ve shut this case down a long time ago. He looked at the nervous agent again. “Is that when you had a change of mind?”

“No, Sir, not yet.”

“No? Please, continue.”

“Then Scott told us about what his dad did for Mr. Fox the night they escaped from Building 11. Sir, it was Forrester who healed Mr. Fox when he suffered that heart attack!”

“The alien healed Mr. Fox?” he repeated.

“Yes, Sir. That’s when I changed my mind and decided to help them,” Ben said proudly and looked into the general’s eyes.

General Elliot and myself debated whether Forrester had anything to do with Fox’s miraculous recovery. Now we know. He continued listening.

“I questioned whether Forrester and his son were as dangerous as Mr. Fox claimed them to be. The evidence Scott gave me indicated they were not. So I did a little research when we got back. And do you know what I found?”

“Please, enlighten me,” Wade said.

“Do you remember the Odyssey II?”

“Yes. That’s the space probe that was declared lost and suddenly came back online after two years.” He looked at the tall agent with a sudden suspicion. “Forrester?”

“Yes, Sir,” Ben replied smiling.

“Let’s not forget he destroyed government property at Peagrum,” Wade countered.

“Property,” Wiley emphasized, “Yes, Sir. But throughout the project, you’ll notice he’s never hurt a person. Not once. In fact, he’s done quite the opposite. At that motorcycle race, Forrester rescued that kid who fell off his dirt bike and broke his arm. The young man was going to get run over by a truck, when Forrester used that glowing marble thing again and “moved” him out of the way. Then there was that blind girl: Julie Radin. She says Forrester healed her burned hand when some acid spilled on her. He also helped the woman pilot land when her plane experienced trouble.”

“Do you think he could have hurt you and Mr. Fox?”

“Oh, easily, but he didn’t.” The agent took a deep breath and worked up his nerve. He reached into his briefcase and placed a pile of papers on the general’s desk. “Sir, these are testimonies on Forrester’s behalf from several people who’ve encountered the alien. I’m convinced Mr. Fox is wrong about them. They’re no threat. I also think Mr. Fox intended to kill Forrester, not capture him. I know the standing orders are to bring them in for questioning, but I humbly request this case be closed and we leave them alone.”

The general took the letters and nodded. “I’ll be making my decision shortly.”

“If you still want to question Paul Forrester, I think he would be willing to comply, if we ask him without threatening to imprison or dissect him,” he added and waited for a response.

“Thank you, Agent Wiley.”

Ben got up and left, certain he’d done all he could to free the alien. It was all up to General Wade now.

Three weeks passed before Ben heard the verdict. He called the Miller’s. “Hello, Ma’am. Is Paul or Scott there?”

There was a silence as the woman passed the phone to one of them.

“Hello, Mr. Wiley. What’s the news?” the teen asked.

“I’m afraid I have bad news, Scott,” the agent said and paused a beat. “We won! Let freedom ring!”

Agnes, John and Paul anxiously watched the teen, their hearts suspended on the man’s next words. They saw an expression of intense sadness overcome Scott. Paul felt tears coming. We must have lost. When will we be able to stop running? At least this time our bags are ready and packed. In the very next second, they all heard an ear-piercing cry and saw Scott make a fist and punch the air in victory. A look of pure joy adorned his face.

“We’re free, Dad! We’re freeeeeeee!”

The intense emotional overload was too much for the teen. Scott held the phone out for his father, then rushed into Mrs. Miller’s waiting outstretched arms, crying with happiness.

“Hello, Wiley,” Starman said.

“I guess you heard the news. We won.”

“Yes,” Paul winced and looked at his excited son. “We all did.”

Ben laughed, and then got back to business. “Listen, as soon as all the formalities are taken care of and the case is closed, I’m coming up to celebrate. I’ll call and let you know when.”

George Fox was placed into a military hospital for psychiatric testing and evaluation. Hearing of Wiley’s acquittal on all charges, was bad enough. The final nail in his coffin was learning that his trusted secretary, Edna, had betrayed him as well. That night he suffered a massive coronary attack and was rushed to emergency care.

One week later an envelope arrived at the Miller farm, postmarked from Washington D.C.

“I think this may be for Paul and Scott, even though it’s addressed to us,” Agnes said, holding the letter out and looking at them across the dinner table.

Paul took it and gave it to his son. “You open it.”

Everyone’s eyes were focused on the teenager as he sliced the envelope open with the handle end of his fork. Scott pulled out a short folded note with a newspaper clipping tucked inside. He read the note and passed it to his father, then looked at the clipping.

They all saw a surprised, or was it an astonished look, come over the teen.

“Well?” Paul finally asked.

Scott gulped down a swallow and quietly handed the clipping to his dad.

The Miller’s saw the same expression spread on the Starman’s face. “What is it, Paul?” Agnes asked.

Starman looked at the farmer couple with sadness in his eyes. “Mr. Fox is dead,” he said. He gave them the note and obituary.

“Why are you crying?” John asked him, seeing tears forming in his eyes. “I would think you’d be relieved.”

“Yeah, Dad. I know I am,” Scott agreed. “Even though Wiley said the case is closed and we’re finally free, I was still afraid Fox would come after us. Now I know he won’t.”

Paul understood his son’s response, but that didn’t change how he felt. “Don’t get me wrong,” he started. “I am relieved, but I’m sad, too.” He went on to explain. “I had hoped Mr. Fox would eventually see the error of his thinking and come around, like Mr. Wiley did, but it’s too late now. He’ll never know what he missed by not accepting me as a friend.”

“You really are somebody special. Do you know that?” Mrs. Miller said.

He looked up and gave the woman a wan smile. “Yes. A few people have told me that.”

“They’re right. Everyone ready for dessert?” she asked, breaking the somber mood. She received three confirming replies.

Scott was still “a little bit jumpy” when Agent Wiley and Edna arrived for the celebration. Sixteen years of government persecution would do that. He quickly loosened up though. Everyone gathered around the table as Mrs. Miller placed a large, white-frosted, chocolate sheet cake on top. It was a special surprise from Ben and Fox’s former secretary. There was a sparkly decoration, like a firecracker explosion, drawn on it along with some words. They read: to Paul and Scott. Long may you live free.

“Here, here,” Edna said.

John glanced at his wife. She nodded and he left the room.

“I knew Mr. Fox had to be wrong about you and Scott,” the woman said looking up at the Starman.

Paul turned to the woman and gazed into her eyes. He took both of her hands in his. “Thank you for helping us,” he softly said, and then bent his head down and gave her a kiss on her cheek.

“Oh! My goodness,” she exclaimed as she felt a rush of warmth sweep through her. “You’re welcome,” she replied.

John returned with a manila envelope and handed it to Starman.

“Paul? Scott? We have something special for you. We’ve kept it for this occasion,” Mrs. Miller said. “We can’t help you find your mother, Scott. We’re sorry; we wish we could. But, there is something we want to give you instead.”

Paul took the package and opened it. He pulled its contents out and started reading it.

Scott, Wiley and Edna saw Forrester’s eyes widen.

“We can’t accept this,” he said and tried to hand the envelope back, but the couple refused to take it.

“What is it, Dad?”

He looked at his son and the agent. “It’s a will, making me and you the owners of this farm when Mr. and Mrs. Miller are gone.”

The teen’s eyes bulged. “What?!”

Both Wiley and Edna were surprised by the couple’s generosity.

“It’s already been recorded at the court,” John said.

“That’s right,” Agnes confirmed, then added, “We have no children to pass this farm on to. If you don’t accept it, then the land will go to the state. We can see how much Scott loves this place, as you do, too, Paul. We’ve discussed this at length; believe me. We want you to have this farm for your son and your son’s children. Please make us happy and say you’ll accept it,” she finished and looked at the Starman with hope.

Paul was stunned to say the least. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes!” Wiley, Scott, Edna, John and Agnes all replied in unison.

The gentle alien looked at each of them with humble gratitude. “All right then, yes. We accept. And thank you.”

“Now, we can celebrate,” Mr. Miller said and handed Paul the knife to cut the cake.

THE END

My sincerest thanks go to Helen, Joyce, and Todd and his aunt, for providing information and editing this story.

This story is an amateur production intended for the enjoyment of Starman fans. It is in no way intended to infringe upon any copyrights. All similarities to real characters and actual events are strictly coincidental. This material may not be copied in any form without the express written consent of the author. Copyright October 2001. All rights reserved.

 


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